Love, Hate and Babysitting
by Quamtana
Summary: My lips pressed together in a straight line as my eyes meet with an unfamiliar pair of grey and blue swirls. Something shifts inside me and I'm surprised to see my 'babysitter' is definitely not what I expected. AU. Fabrevans
1. Expectations VS Reality

**Hi everyone! It's been awhile huh? Okay so this is a new story I'm testing out. I won't continue it if I don't have more than 5 reviews and I'm not sure yet how long it'll be. So give it a read, review and hopefully I'll have another chapter up soon!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Glee or any characters or plots used in the story. **

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_Quinn's P.O.V_

I never understood the need for a babysitter at my age. Santana's parents left her alone all the time, why couldn't mine? I'm sixteen after all. It just wasn't fair. None of it. Why should parents be allowed to just leave their kids with some, some _stranger_, while they go off and have fun.

_Ding Dong. _

He was here. I looked up at the tatty clock hanging on the wall behind me. 6pm. He was here at exactly 6 o'clock. Just like he had said to my mother yesterday. Letting out a rather long and exaggerated sigh, I groggily got up off the couch to open the door. Just as I make my way around the couch, my mother unfortunately - or fortunately? - beats me to it.

"Sam, Sam, come in! Russell and I were just about to leave!" Judy hurries him inside the house and I go back to watching whatever program was still on the television. Honestly, I didn't care one but for the fact he was here.

It's pathetic, really. I am sixteen. Sixteen, and my parents still think I need a babysitter. Do they not know the key word in that. _Baby_. Thanks for the trust, guys. I pick up the remote from the arm of the couch and flicked to another channel - another cliche horror movie.

It takes a whole 20 seconds before the screen goes black, and the television set turns off. Groaning in frustration, I turn my head and look around to see the culprit. "Hey! I was watchi-" My lips pressed together in a straight line as my eyes meet with an unfamiliar pair of grey and blue swirls. Something shifts inside me and I'm surprised to see my 'babysitter' is definitely not what I expected.

Knowing my mom I presumed he'd be some decent-looking church boy, who clearly has nothing better to do on his Saturday nights. Probably scrawny and geeky too. Instead, I met with this guy. Or should I say man. How old was he? Nothing about his appearance really speaks 'boy' to me.

His shirt is barely containing his muscles, and the simple shift in his body causes them to ripple. His hair is this dirty blonde and is slightly askew and falling in his face but it has this sexy bad-boy appeal to it. And oh god, _his face_. His eyes are these perfect mixes of blue and grey, they're so intense..just boring right into my own, as though he's trying to decipher every single thing about me without saying a word, and it takes me a while before I realize that I'm blatantly drooling over this, this perfect man.

This perfect man who probably thinks I'm some bratty, spoilt teenager who needs a babysitter at sixteen. Great.

I glance down at my lap and can feel my face heating up quickly. I have a newfound interest in my nails, but truthfully I was just searching for something to save me from his stare. I swallow thickly and note that he's not even trying to cover it up. No. Instead he's added this stupid smirk, as he watches me squirm, and that seems to make him that much damn sexier. And it's irritating, because I just know I'm going to be dealing with this all night.

* * *

My parents leave without a fuss - or a goodbye for that matter - and within the first hour, Sam's managed to position himself practically on top of me on the couch.

It's innocent. Really. We were watching a movie, the popcorn was resting on the arm of the couch beside me and he simply shuffled close enough to reach it. But we both knew it was more than that. He's had this fucking cocky smirk plastered on his face the entire evening and as endearing as it is, he's only doing it to piss me off.

Bastard.

Little does he know I'm in the perfect position to kick him in the balls. Unfortunately his looks dissuaded me from doing so. He was like an intensified version of Noah Puckerman. And he doesn't even begin to realize how bad that is.

* * *

It's near the end of the movie that it happens. And it was completely unintentional.

I managed to bring the bowl of popcorn into my lap, securing it with one hand in case he tried to reach for it. You see, not only is he a bastard, but he's also a pig. Every goddamn five seconds he's reaching over, grabbing a fist full of popcorn - managing to drop half across my lap, and shove the rest in his mouth without looking. I'd say about 5% actually make it to his stomach.

He so innocently reaches for the popcorn, though his eyes remain glued to the screen in front of him. I move the bowl out of his reach though the action seems to go unnoticed, instead his calloused fingers brush against my bare upper thigh. The gasp wasn't intentional - then again none of this was - but it slipped out. Partly from my shock at the warm yet rough contact, but mostly at how it felt. He wasn't about to know that. I pulled his hand away and placed on his own lap, horrified. My skin feeling unusually cold at the lack of contact but I tried to ignore it as he sat there in amusement.

Placing the bowl aside, I smacked him bare in his stomach, only to hurt my hand. He must _live_ at the gym. Partially embarrassed, I stand up, and simply walk upstairs to my room.

He chuckles. He fucking chuckles. Though the sound is pleasurable I'd never admit it. No. Because he's doing this just to spite me. And it's working.

He'll see.

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	2. It's All A Game

**Thank you all for reading and the reviews. And for those who asked, there will be more dialogue between the two, don't worry! Hope you all enjoy this next chapter!**

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_Quinn's P.O.V_

It's stupid, really. It's almost laughable at how quickly we settled sides. I don't actually think he'd said a word yet when I had figured it out. Why? I'm not too sure. How? I blame his cockiness. Actually, you know what? I just blame him. I blame him for this entire thing. If he wasn't so good looking, it'd be easy to just walk away and oh so easy to hate him.

But it's not. Because he's not. No. My mother managed to pick the most annoying yet attractive man in this stupid town. Someone with a body that might as well be carved by god himself. Someone who touched me. Who fucking touched my leg, with that stupid damn smirk. And I happened to find myself probably having enjoyed the warmth a bit too much.

And I hate it. But at that same time I love it. And it's all just fucking confusing.

Well I'm not going to sit around and be some pawn in his stupid game. No. I'm going to be playing that game. And I'm going to enjoy it. And so is he.

* * *

I've always known my assets. I know just what to flaunt, how to tease, and how to keep them waiting on their toes at the edge - mostly with the help of Santana. But this is different. _He_ is different. He's older - or at least seems a lot older. He's probably experienced and worst of all, he has some form of authority over me. Fortunately, it isn't much.

But you see, it actually is. Because despite the fact _he's_ meant to be taking care of _me_ and making sure I don't misbehave or sneak out or blah blah blah, he could ask me to be his servant for god sake..and I'd probably do it. He's slowly driving me insane. And not in a good way. No. It's like, he, he has this unfair advantage _just_ because he's hot. And I'm hormonal.

Damn it.

I just, I have to turn the tables. Right? At least enough so that we're on the same level.

And I know just how to do that.

* * *

Santana is my best friend. Probably more my sister considering how close we are. Not to mention all the pointless fights that are forgotten about within the day. She started leaving clothes at mine freshman year, and vice versa. It's just easier that way considering it's more often than not we're staying at one another's that week. It doesn't really bother me, I have plenty of closet space and we basically swapped everything. Apart from the fact her clothes took up half the space. And thank god for that.

It's a simple pajama outfit. Nothing too obvious, nothing too out there. Perfect for the situation though. They are decently comfy, it's basically night time anyway, and it is summer so I don't have to worry about the fact only half my body is covered. Trust Santana. I walk down the stairs in nothing but a thin, almost see-through midriff with short? short-shorts. Needless to say, I felt good in it. Of course I'd never normally be seen in this sort of thing, but for this one night, I was going to. Because of him. And even though I hate that I've probably stooped to his level, it doesn't stop me.

* * *

I know he heard me. He had to. The stairs creaked with every step, yet he doesn't budge. The movie isn't that interesting. Otherwise I'd probably have stayed there. But it seems to be for him. At least more interesting than other things. Namely me. Why should I care though? I mean I don't. He _is_ my babysitter though, and he _should_ be taking care of me. That's all. I just, don't think he's doing a satisfactory job. And I plan on letting him know that. "Sam? Is it?" I ask rhetorically, though I knew his name was _definitely_ Sam. 100%. "Aren't you meant to be my babysitter? Not my sit-on-your-couch-and-eat-your-popcorn-and-watch-y our-tv-while-you-pay-me person? Because I'm pretty sure my parents wouldn't be happy to hear what they're actually paying you to do." Though I should be, I wasn't surprised at all when he doesn't even as much as glance my way at all. Instead, he pauses the movie, and asks "Is that all?"

I stop talking then. Because I realize it's the first time I actually heard him speak. And, and it was _beautiful_. And absolutely infuriating at the same time. Fuck.

He carries on with his movie - unfazed might I add - once he is sure I've finished speaking. And once again when I should be shocked, I'm honestly not. So I take this as a sign to kick things up a notch. If he won't pay attention to me, I'll make him.

In the reflection of the window, I fix up my hair slightly - though there's not much to fix up - and make sure everything's in place. Hands on hips, I saunter off in his direction, hips swaying with every step and I just know if I bent over right now that he'd have the perfect view of my ass. Unlucky for him, he's not in my good books.

I happily repeat his actions from earlier and switch the screen to black, flashing him one of his own signature smirks as he stares at me in pure amusement.

Wait, _what?!_ Fucking hell. Does he ever just, _stop_? He's sitting there with a lop sided grin and his hands folded over his chest, looking at me like..like he's _expecting_ something from me. And once again he's won. I know it. He knows it. And nothing else needs to be said.

* * *

Honestly, I should have known. My mother always explained to me what pigs, men were and how I should never give them anything or that they'll leave as soon as they get what they want. It's all the same speech, whenever she sees me with a boy. It's stupid. But it's not as though I've totally ignored her.

And now I understand.

It's like I'm an animal. A poor helpless animal and he's ready to attack. For a man of very few words, he doesn't hide much. He's outright staring at me, my legs, my stomach, up to my face. And he just continues to stare. And as much as I want to look away, I can't. He's literally, forcing me to stare back, and honestly it's making me uncomfortable. How easily he can trap me. And I can't escape. I just _can't_.

Until the door bell rings.

We both glance back at the entrance. And even though I hate it, I'm glad that something broke the stare. God only knows what would've happened if he hadn't.

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**Ooh! Who's at the door? Minor Cliffhanger. Please, please, please leave a review telling me what you think, any improvements/ideas, constructive criticism, whatever! Thank you all for reading!**

**Once again, I won't keep updating until a sufficient number of reviews!**


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